


i understand your truest air and way of being

by EffervescentYellow



Series: across the rolling dales of heather [3]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: (i think), Angst, Fighting, Gender, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, Internalized Misogyny, M/M, learning how to live together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 20:06:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29441628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EffervescentYellow/pseuds/EffervescentYellow
Summary: Thomas hated that much more than what had actually started the argument, because Richard would push back against Thomas degrading and dismissing himself till Judgement Day came, but rarely would Richard allow himself the same grace.
Relationships: Thomas Barrow/Richard Ellis
Series: across the rolling dales of heather [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2154012
Comments: 11
Kudos: 31





	i understand your truest air and way of being

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably not the best fic for Valentine's Day, but it’s what came to me while I was drinking my tea and brooding.
> 
> The timeline in this is a little weird, but when I tried putting it all in order I didn’t like it as much, so hopefully it’s not too confusing.
> 
> This is set between the first and second works of this series.

Richard was fiddling with the lighter between his fingers, turning it around endlessly, likely unaware that he was even doing it (unaware that he was even holding it perhaps).

Thomas wanted it back.

He wanted something to soothe, something to stop him from squeezing his hands into such tight fists that his joints would ache far into the next afternoon.

“You’re being too conciliatory.”

“No, I’m not,” Richard huffed out, but he was already turning away from him, eyes already darting back to their place on the wall where they could be hurt without also being stung by Thomas’ gaze. He knew his gaze was stinging now because he’d meant for it to be, and yet he was already feeling by the curl in his stomach and in his toes that he would regret this as well by the next afternoon, if not much sooner.

“Yes, you are,” Thomas spat out, too many emotions churning away inside him to realize that that was one of the few times Richard hadn’t actually conceded all evening, “Yes, you are, Richard.”

“I don’t mean to be.” He sounded small in a way Thomas was tired of hearing (or scared of hearing) – in a way he didn’t want to hear again.

“Well then, don’t be a coward and say what you mean.” _I need you to say what you mean._

Richard ran a hand over his face, as if trying to wipe away the frustration and exhaustion that rested there, and squeezed Thomas’ lighter in the other, his knuckles turning white for half a second before sucking in a deep breath and releasing it, setting the lighter down on the counter (still too far away for Thomas to reach without brushing against him) and pushing both hands into his pockets as if that would help – as if Thomas couldn’t already see his thumbs rubbing against the top seams.

“Alright,” he said, facing him once more, “I disagree with you. I do. But I won’t fight with you.”

Thomas just stared at him. That wasn’t how these things worked. (That wasn’t how he knew these things to work.) “What?”

Richards eyes shifted. The hurt was still there, unlikely to go away for a while, not with the things Thomas had accosted him for and accused him of, but there was a softness to the green now, a kind of tender sadness. It was the kind of look only he could give him, because no one else had ever been hurt by him and still managed to love him at the same time.

“I’ll disagree with you, but I won’t fight with you, Thomas.”

“What kind of man does that make you, then?”

Richard blinked twice. No matter how much he was feeling like he ought to swim to shore by this point, he’d jumped headfirst into deep waters earlier and still had a long way to go before he’d get there.

“I suppose it makes me exactly the kind of man that I am,” he replied, voice suddenly quieter than the wall clock.

 _Stand up for yourself!_ Thomas wanted to scream. _Why won’t you stand up for yourself?_

And yet maybe he was, Thomas realized, in his own way. Maybe he hadn’t meant it as he’d said, only that he was a man who carried gentleness around in his breast pocket and kindness under his fingernails – a man who flinched at loud noises and was careful with his thoughts and words and hated shouting and screaming and all the things Thomas hated, too, yet somehow had the ability then to also not do them.

oOo

He’d already managed to smoke three cigarettes by the time they’d returned home and Richard had led them into the kitchen.

Richard made to move towards him, but Thomas snapped, “Don’t touch me,” voice tight.

Richard froze midstride before slowly inching a hand forward to slip the lighter out from his hand, making sure their skin didn’t touch, and Thomas felt like he was boiling.

As soon as the cool metal was lost from his grip, he felt empty, and he didn’t like that any better.

“I don’t think there was any harm done, Thomas,” Richard started, voice level but eyebrows furrowed.

“Oh really? You don’t? You don’t mind the whole street knowing that two men like us live at the end of it?” (only one for now, really, but that was a different argument for a different time).

Richard blinked hard, “Come on, love, Mrs. Robertson must be 75 at best, and with a house full of grandchildren. I don’t know that our lives would be the first thing on her mind.”

“Well they likely wouldn’t be if you hadn’t introduced me as your ‘dear friend’.”

Richard’s calm was already wearing away at the edges, “I was only admiring her flowers.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole neighborhood knows already with you prancing and preening the way you do.”

“…the way I do…” Richard murmured, and Thomas knew he’d struck a nerve there, because Richard’s face had turned red, and not at all in the lovely, blissful way Thomas liked it too be.

He had shame written across his cheekbones.

And Thomas was angry. Angry that he felt vulnerable – that they were vulnerable – and that Richard especially was letting himself be.

“Whatever happened to you pretending.”

“Thomas, please,” he murmured softly, and then, “You never liked that.”

“It was better than whatever this is,” Thomas spat out, but that was a lie. Neither one of them had ever liked Richard pretending.

“You don’t try to pretend,” Richard pushed back, but there was no bite to it.

“I don’t have to as much, do I.” And that was possibly more of a lie than the last statement.

This time Richard didn’t try to push back at all, and Thomas hated that much more than what had actually started the argument, because Richard would push back against Thomas degrading and dismissing himself till Judgement Day came, but rarely would Richard allow himself the same grace.

He wasn’t even sure he could pick a singular thing he was upset about by that point, but he could feel that he was losing himself – anger and panic and a deep-seated sense of injustice thrumming wildly between his ribs. He was pricking at everything he knew would hurt Richard most, everything he knew would make him doubt himself (everything he loved about him).

Because he did love the way Richard tipped his hat at strangers and meant it genuinely, and the way he walked through the world with a kind of assuredness and joy Thomas could never quite manage. He loved the way Richard found delight in even the smallest things of beauty and the way he wasn’t afraid to let that delight pour out of him.

“I want you to be happy,” Richard whispered finally.

 _Why do you let me do this to you?_ he wanted to grab him by the shoulders and cry. _Why do I do this to you?_

Thomas could see in his eyes there was much more he wasn’t saying.

oOo

“We don’t see things the same way,” Richard said finally.

“No.” It was now Thomas’ turn to concede.

Richard took another deep breath and pushed his shoulders back, leveling Thomas in the eye “I don’t think that makes any one of us lesser.” And there it was, the strength and fairness and stability that Thomas knew to be there in every inch of Richard’s being was slowly returning, but it was still far too unsteady.

His head was pounding.

oOo

“You’re not a lesser man.” Thomas said, voice still rough with emotion, as he followed Richard up the stairs to their bed.

Richard stopped above him and turned to look back down, his eyes shimmering wide in the darkness of the stairwell.

“You’re a much stronger man than I’ve ever known how to be.”

“I don’t-“ Richard started, but Thomas reached up and grabbed his arm to cut him off and steady them both.

“Yes, you are, Richard,” he urged, “I’ve never once known you to let the world dictate what you can and cannot have. And if that isn’t the most astonishing thing I-“ He stopped, sucking in a breath, trying to figure out how to say what he meant, "I’ve forgotten how to do that,” and then, “I don’t think I ever knew how to do that with kindness.”

oOo

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” (and when had he started trembling?) “I couldn’t bear it.”

“I know,” Richard replied, voice beginning to sound normal again (steady) and took a slow step forward towards him.

 _I love you,_ Thomas thought _. How do you love me in all the right ways?_

Richard picked back up the lighter and slipped it wordlessly into Thomas’ hand, wrapping his other hand around so that it rested firmly on the small of his back. Thomas unraveled against him instantly; he was so tired he could feel it in his teeth – exhaustion having curled itself right around his back molars.

And that was that.

oOo

Thomas wasn’t usually the one to make the first move afterwards. He was one to slowly whittle away at his hurt until he finally managed to make something new from it, while Richard was the one to reach out – the one to brace his hands against Thomas’ hips as he smoked himself into a corner; the one to run a fingernail down the ridges of his spine when he tried to turn away in bed. But Thomas was tired of that (and whatever he might say or even consciously know, Thomas imagined Richard was tired of it, too). Richard deserved a man to reach out to him as well, especially when the argument had turned more one-sided than any they’d ever had.

Thomas tilted against the pillow to look over at Richard. He was lying straight on his back, eyes open to the ceiling, but his arms were stiff under the covers, straining to be still (straining not to disturb Thomas). Thomas moved slowly, reaching out to lay his sore hand across Richard’s heart. He felt his breath stutter beneath him and then calm, Richard bringing his own hand up to cover Thomas’, his fingers playing gently against the scar, and closed his eyes.

Thomas then turned fully, nudging against his neck so that he could reach the tender spot just behind Richard’s ear, pressing his lips slowly against him. That move had never once failed to make Richard keen out a small, breathless whine, and it didn’t fail now. He circled the ridge of bone with the tip of his tongue, not enough to leave a mark, only enough to leave Richard’s eyelashes fluttering. Richard’s soft hair tickled his nose, and Thomas breathed in the scent of him, the scent that evaded and haunted him when he was on his own, only coming to him distorted in half-dreams. He was surrounded by it now, shivering in its tender familiarity.

Richard turned away from him, but only so that he could curl against him further, back to Thomas’ stomach, cold toes to Thomas’ equally cold ankles.

Thomas knew what needed to come next. He knew because Richard had somehow always known and always given it first. 

He pulled his lips away from Richard’s skin to rest them lightly against the curve of his ear, “I’m grateful for you the way you are,” he whispered, and Richard shuddered, an unsteady breath escaping from between his lips.

 _Forgive me_ , is what he meant. _I’ve forgiven you. (I don’t know that you were ever wrong.)_

“I wish I could love you the way you deserve.”

Richard craned his neck back to look at him, eyes imploring, “You do, Thomas.”

“No, I don’t,” Thomas said earnestly, closing his eyes. He didn’t want to argue anymore, “I didn’t today.”

Richard shook his head still, pulling Thomas’ arms tighter around his waist. “Well,” he said, so soft Thomas heard it through his bones more than his ears, as he curled his ankle back to hook around Thomas’, “What are the rest of our lives for then, if not for to learn how to love each other better.”

**Author's Note:**

> The more I write, the more I think my formatting and punctuation have no logic at all.
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](https://effervescentyellow.tumblr.com/).


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